


Experiments And Controls

by Salmon_Pink



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: BDSM, Breathplay, Community: avengers_tables, Dirty Talk, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-05-04
Updated: 2012-05-04
Packaged: 2017-11-04 20:22:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/397857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Salmon_Pink/pseuds/Salmon_Pink
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Whatever this is between them, maybe it could work. <b>(Spoilers for <i>The Avengers</i>.)</b></p>
            </blockquote>





	Experiments And Controls

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [Avengers_Tables](http://avengers-tables.livejournal.com/), prompt "control".

He should’ve left by now. He’s been here too long, there’s _news footage_ of him, for God’s sake. 

He should’ve left the moment Loki was secured and the Hulk allowed him back out.

But Tony had been there, hovering at his elbow, whispering the names and serial numbers of all the toys he had in the R&D levels of Stark Tower, low and almost seductive. And never mind that the building’s been compromised, that the entire upper level is wrecked, that there’s broken windows and alien corpses littering the lower levels, that the entire structure has probably taken a solid knock. 

Bruce missed this. Bruce missed _research_.

Not that he has time to do much more than look, not really. But he _trusts_ Tony. He has no idea why, because there’s probably a lot of reasons why he shouldn’t. But Tony’s been upfront with him, at times disturbingly so, and Bruce’s gut tells him that maybe this is okay, maybe he’s _allowed_ this, just for a moment or two.

“Soooo,” Tony murmurs, voice sliding over the word like a piano scale. “You’re always angry, huh?”

Bruce exhales softly in something like laughter. “Pretty much,” he answers, spirits high despite the low ache in his bones that means the Hulk got a really _good_ workout.

“So, you’re in control of your anger?”

“Pretty much,” Bruce repeats, and his eyes flicker to Tony’s hands, making sure he’s not holding anything he might use to prod, poke, shock or otherwise irritate him. Not that he _does_ find Tony irritating, and apparently that’s almost as unique of a trait as having the Hulk pulsing underneath his skin, if one listens to the grumblings of certain S.H.I.E.L.D. agents.

“All the time?” Tony asks, and Bruce turns away from the flicker of code and images on the floating screens and meets Tony’s eyes. 

He looks fascinated and maybe a little cynical, like it’s a foreign concept to him that somebody _not_ be ruled by their emotions. 

“All the time,” he confirms.

There’s a brief moment where Tony’s studying him, but he doesn’t look repulsed or frightened, isn’t viewing him as something less than human, as an experiment. It’s just that Tony’s a scientist, an engineer, and Bruce gets that, gets the pathological need to understand. 

“So, maybe, just being hypothetical here, if I stomped on your foot, or kneed you in the groin…”

Bruce raises his eyebrows. “ _Are_ you planning to knee me in the groin?”

“No, I’m just saying, hypothetically -”

“Are you _thinking_ about kneeing me in the groin?”

“No. Well, yes, I have to be thinking about it to say it, right, because no matter what Pepper might tell you, my mind and my mouth _are_ connected. But I’m purely thinking in the hypothetical sense, not in the actual planning-to-do-it sense, so your groin is safe. Uh. From my knee. You know, specifically.”

He trusts this man. Strange but true.

“Okay, well, as long as my groin is safe.”

“From my knee.”

“Right.” Another of those little exhales that, once upon a time, might have actually been real laughter.

“I’m just wondering about what, exactly, might shake you.”

“Hypothetically?” 

“Exactly.” 

Bruce tugs off his glasses and rubs the end of his shirt against the lenses. Not that it’s actually _his_ shirt, Tony leant it to him, which means it probably cost more than Bruce has spent accumulatively on clothes in his entire life.

“I don’t really think this is an appropriate topi-” Bruce begins, but Tony’s mouth mashing against his interrupts his train of thought fairly effectively.

It’s quick, rough and shockingly fierce. 

Tony pulls back and just _stares_ at him.

Bruce stares back. For what feels like an infinitely long moment, before he sighs. “Are you expecting me to Hulk-out right now?”

“No, why would I be expecting that?”

“Because you’re _looking_ at me like you’re expecting me to Hulk-out right now.”

Tony cocks his head ever so slightly. “I’m not looking at you like I’m expecting you to Hulk-out, and is that a thing now? Is that what we’re call it, ‘Hulking-out’?”

This time Bruce’s exhale is more like polite frustration.

“What I’m _expecting_ , or not expecting, or wondering about, is whether you’re going to punch me for kissing you,” Tony explains, as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“You’re wondering if I’m going to punch you for kissing me? Specifically, you kissing me because you want to turn me into the Hulk?”

“No, and would you stop with the Hulk thing for five seconds. I mean, geez, obsessed much? I’m wondering if you’re going to punch me for kissing you because I really, _really_ want to get into your pants.”

Bruce pauses, mouth open with an answer that just isn’t forthcoming, and Tony presses a little closer, eyes darting across Bruce’s face, pausing at his mouth, before meeting his gaze again.

“So, we doing this or what?”

And Bruce could ask Tony what the hell he’s even talking about, but they’d both know it’s a stalling tactic. Tony’s the type to go after what he wants without hesitation, Bruce knew that from interviews and news articles before he even met the man. And Bruce?

Bruce is _hungry_.

Maybe Tony sees that. Maybe Tony doesn’t care. Maybe it would never occur to Tony that anyone might actually turn him down. 

Either way, he just sinks to his knees like the conversation is over, and anything Bruce might want to say, any token objections or warnings, just die in his throat as Tony reaches for his belt. Taking his time and feeling Bruce up as he manoeuvres the buckle and tugs down the fly, palming Bruce through the fabric, and Bruce’s body is already taking interest, already swelling under the touch.

There are so many reasons why this is a bad idea, and right now Bruce can’t hold on to any of them.

Especially not when Tony starts murmuring, low and insistent, “Yeah, that’s it, c’mon, you’ve been waiting for this, haven’t you? Fucking _wanting_ this, yeah, that’s right.”

Bruce honestly has no idea who Tony is talking to; himself, Bruce or, shit, the Other Guy. This is so, so wrong, and then Tony’s mouth is on him, so hot it feels like it could _burn_ him.

It’s been so long since somebody touched him like this, and there’s no more leisurely exploration, just Tony’s cheeks hollowing as sucks Bruce to full hardness, as he grips Bruce’s hips and pushes down, down, until his nose brushes dark hair before pulling back slightly.

Bruce grunts and braces a hand against the lab bench behind him and, oh, it would be so easy to get lost in this. So easy to just surrender to sensation and that talented tongue.

But Bruce won’t. 

He can’t.

And Tony _knows_ that. Tony is pushing him, even knowing that, and Bruce doesn’t understand why everybody thinks Tony’s all about self-preservation, because the man’s the most self-destructive person Bruce has ever met.

Yes, Bruce is always angry. There are just different _shades_ of his anger, all tightly under rein, and Tony’s flippancy stirs something particularly vindictive in Bruce’s gut.

The sound Tony makes when Bruce’s hand settles in his hair is pleased, maybe a little smug. But it turns into something more like a surprised grunt when Bruce gets a fistful of hair and _pulls_.

Tony’s eyes flicker up to him, and he’s still looking at Bruce like he’s expecting something, like he’s _anticipating_ it.

Bruce feels himself smile, slow and wet and heady, and Tony makes another soft sound around Bruce’s cock.

“You think you’re going to make me lose control, is that it?”

He watches Tony’s eyes flutter closed, feels Tony’s thumbs dig into his hips.

“It doesn’t work like that, Tony,” Bruce whispers, and he feels Tony gasp around him, delicate flutter of air, but he doesn’t give Tony a chance to catch his breath. Holds on with his grip on Tony’s hair and rolls his hips forward, steady and insistent, until Tony’s nose touches his stomach again. 

Gives himself a second just to _feel_ that, before pulling back, just a little, then pushing back in. Angling Tony’s face, so the head of his cock pushes along the roof of Tony’s mouth, ridges and sensation, and the noise Tony makes this time is pitched higher. 

Settles into the rhythm of it, slow, intimate pace as he begins to fuck Tony’s mouth. Feeling Tony shiver, shift and fidget slightly against the floor until Bruce brings his other hand up, hooks his thumb behind Tony’s ear and cradles the base of his skull. Tony’s noises are almost constant now, small and choked off with every thrust, vibrating down Bruce’s length and sending sparks up his spine.

“What did you think I’d do, Stark?” He somehow keeps his tone almost conversational, even as he fucks deeper, deeper, deliciously slow drag of it. “Did you think I’d hurt you? _Use_ you? Did you think it would be fast and hard and painful? Did you _want_ that?”

That sound could only be described as a _whine_ , high and caught in Tony’s throat, and Bruce grits his teeth, centres himself on the sensation of it. Barely pulling back now, just his hips moving in tight circles, pushing deeper into that heat, and he wants to do this forever but his body is already trying to fall over the edge. 

He can hold it back, he knows he can, can hold all that pleasure in check, but he honestly doesn’t _want_ to.

“That’s the thing about my control. I know exactly how much I can take.” Bruce slides his thumb over Tony’s cheek, massages small circles against his jaw. “Do _you_ know how much you can take, Tony?”

Tony’s eyes are wide and fucked-out and staring up at him like Bruce is the most amazing, dangerous thing he’s ever seen. 

“Swallow it,” Bruce growls, and, shit, Tony just _does_ it. Gulps Bruce down into his throat, sudden _squeeze_ of it, and Bruce groans and lets himself go. Lets himself pulse and twitch and come down the tight passage of Tony’s throat, hands still holding Tony’s head in place as his legs tremble and his spine melts.

For a moment, everything inside him ripples and churns, folds and flips over itself, all those different shades and layers of anger, like a mixture bubbling over. And then they settle and Bruce breathes and holds Tony still as he gently slips from the man’s throat.

He steps back, lets his spine bump against the lab bench. Watches as Tony coughs wetly, one hand splayed across the floor to keep himself from toppling over. He can see how hard Tony is inside his trousers, and Tony’s eyes somehow manage to look both hazy and _manic_.

“God, knew it’d be that way, knew it, fucking _knew_ it,” Tony slurs, and his voice sounds hoarse and used.

“Yeah, well, sorry to disappoint you by not letting the Other Guy out. Although why’d you _want_ that -”

“Didn’t I tell you to stop with the Hulk thing?” Tony interrupts, swaying a little as he gets to his feet. “Do you _really_ think that’s what this is about?”

And, yeah, that _is_ what Bruce thought this was about, because that’s pretty much _all_ people want from him these days.

But Tony’s _still_ staring at him like he’s waiting, like he’s expecting something and, oh, maybe that makes sense.

Maybe this really _isn’t_ about the Other Guy. Maybe this is all about Bruce and what he can do.

Because Tony’s pretty much the definition of organised chaos, always teetering on the edge, always running on that adrenaline. And maybe it _would_ appeal to him, being with somebody like Bruce. Being with somebody who has Bruce’s level of control.

“Aaaand _there_ it is,” Tony smirks, so apparently that little realisation played rather obviously across Bruce’s face. “You know, for a genius, you’re kinda slow.”

And Bruce _does_ feel like he’s being slow. Tony wants Bruce because of his control. Tony wants Bruce to be in control. 

Tony wants Bruce to control him.

And maybe that’s a step too far, but Bruce is already moving, shoving Tony roughly back against a low work bench, and Tony’s eyes just _flare_ with it, like Bruce is being _perfect_.

Bruce has no idea what his face must look like right now, but his hands practically rip Tony’s fly out, and Tony cocks his hips and grins. 

“You know, if you _want_ me to coax the Other Guy out, we can _try_ it,” Tony mumbles, but he’s laughing, joking. He wouldn’t actually _do_ that to Bruce, and maybe Bruce knew that, maybe that’s why he allowed this. 

Because, yes, he _does_ trust Tony.

Tony grunts when Bruce gets his hands around his cock, pushing up into his grip.

“I mean, I can probably whip up some restraints, and then we can see just how much it’d take, you know, before you _snap_ ,” Tony rambles, but he doesn’t mean it, Bruce gets that now.

It’s not about Tony pushing Bruce to get to the Other Guy. It’s about Tony pushing Bruce to get Bruce to push _back_.

“You want to tie me up?” Bruce murmurs, pushing against Tony until the back of his legs are pinned, until he can’t get any leverage to thrust his hips. Until all he can do is _take_ it. “Because, honestly, I’d rather see _you_ strapped down, all spread out for this.”

“ _Fuck_ , Banner, you say the sweetest things -”

“You’d _hate_ it, wouldn’t you, all helpless like that? And that would just make it _better_.”

“Shit, _yes_.” Tony throws his head back, lines of his neck standing out, as Bruce keeps the pace just as steady as when he’d taken Tony’s mouth, strong, slow pulls of Tony’s cock.

“Because no matter what you say, no matter what you do, you wouldn’t be able to break me.”

“Oh, oh _God_ -”

“You wouldn’t be able to tell me what to do. Because _I’m_ the one with the control.”

“And you, nnh, you’d be _angry_.”

“All the time.”

“Angry at _me_.”

“You’d _make_ me angry at you, wouldn’t you?”

“Yessss.”

“You want to be punished, Tony?”

“Ohfuckohfuckohfuck, if you say _anything_ about daddy issues, I swear I’ll call the whole thing off!”

Tony gasps when Bruce’s hands leave his cock, but Bruce has to grab his hips, has to tip Tony back against the bench. Gets one hand back on Tony’s cock and wraps the other around Tony’s throat.

“I won’t say that and you won’t call this off. You’ve wanted this too long, haven’t you?”

He begins to alternate squeezing each hand, first Tony’s neck, then his cock, then his neck. Not hard enough to hurt, just enough to make Tony _feel_ it, hard enough to kill any words before they can form in Tony’s throat.

“You’ve wanted someone whose control you can’t shatter. Someone you can’t manipulate, someone with just enough darkness inside that they can hold you down and _scare_ you.”

Bruce can feel himself sweating and Tony’s eyes are starting to roll back in his head.

“I can go for _hours_ , Tony,” he hisses against the curve of Tony’s jaw. “Hours and I won’t so much as _crack_. But you? You’ll fall apart for me.”

His lips are almost touching Tony’s, tasting each breath as Tony gasps for air. “You want me to _break_ you, Tony?”

He listens as Tony makes a hurt, wrecked sound, and then Tony’s back is arching off the bench, his cock pulsing in Bruce’s grip, spattering his clothes and Bruce’s fist as he comes.

Bruce keeps squeezing his cock through it, barely breathing as he watches, until the glaze begins to seep out of Tony’s eyes and Bruce feels like his lungs are on fire. 

“God fucking damn,” Tony croaks, a little awestruck.

Bruce shifts to sit beside Tony on the bench as Tony pulls himself up, running a hand over his face and shaking his head slightly. 

Bruce isn’t sure if this is the point where he should admit to Tony that he’s never really done anything like that before. 

He’s _really_ not sure if he should admit to himself how much he liked it.

Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Tony idly rub at his throat. There are so many bruises from the invasion that Bruce can’t tell if he left his own mark or not.

He kind of hopes he did.

“You’re gonna take off soon?”

“Yeah, I have to,” Bruce answers. “Before too many ‘interested parties’ come sniffing around.”

“I can drop you wherever you need. Train station, airport, Canada, just say the word.”

Bruce smiles down at his knees. “Thanks.” 

They sit there for a long moment, Tony’s legs swinging slightly, his shoes scuffing the floor.

“You know we’re going to do this again, right?”

Bruce nods slowly. “Yeah, I kind of figured.”

“I mean, you let me know where you’re headed, and I’ll get in touch when things die down a little.”

Bruce quirks an eyebrow.

“Hey, it’s not like I’ll _tell_ everyone where you’re hiding,” Tony snorts. “Honest. I don’t lie. Well, about the important stuff.”

“Yeah? Like when you said my groin was safe?” 

“Safe from my _knee_ ,” Tony corrects.

“Ah, my mistake,” Bruce nods, and makes a noise that’s not quite a laugh but as close to it as he’s come in quite a while.

This is crazy and destructive and intense and, yeah, maybe it can work. Maybe Bruce can _have_ this, and the anger in his stomach settles, sated and pleased.


End file.
